The Flames, At Last, Consume
by Novacaine Child
Summary: After Christine leaves with Raoul, Phantom is left to dwell on his own misery. Meg stumbles upon him in his lair, and an unpleasant surprise awaits her. Rated M for a reason.


**Hey :) This is my first ever POTO fic, so sorry if it's a little hazy. Warnings for rape. M for a reason. **

So, it is over, then. Christine is gone, and she will not be coming back to me. I could only watch, helpless, as she sailed away with Raoul on the boat and took my heart with her, knowing that I had reached the end of my (admittedly pitiful) life. I don't imagine that she knows just how deeply this hurts… Surely, if she did, she would never leave me. I doubt that even ten thousand arias for her could make her understand… this concept is one with which I am unfamiliar; Music has always been able to express my fear, rage, lust. Now I will be amazed if I ever compose again.

Sighing, I sink down onto the swan-bed I prepared for her, cursing the red silk as it slides under my fingertips, gently reminding me that they are needless now. My eyes slide closed, and in a sort of horrified trance, I recall what it felt like to have her lips pressed to mine. The sincerity in her kiss, somehow there but then not, never fails to frighten and then amaze me; she seemed as genuine as I did in that moment. Perhaps it was that which convinced me to let them escape. If she felt so deeply for Raoul that she would go to such lengths to make me believe what I wanted to, then surely, keeping her here would have only made her feel what I feel now. And that would be unthinkable.

I stand and shift on my feet restlessly, hardly able to believe that it has been an entire week since the last time I saw her. I raise my hand to swipe angrily at a stray tear, and once again feel the spiked edge of the ring she left me graze my cheek. Feeling a slow trickle of blood and salt beginning to mix, I move towards the mirror and stare uncaringly at my reflection. The mask, I discarded, as soon as she left. There is no longer any point in trying to trick myself into believing that I could ever be seen as any more than a monster, or that anyone could ever see more to me than the repulsive deformities. More carefully, I wipe away the crimson stream slowly dripping down the unmarred side of my face, and suddenly notice a shape behind me in the glass. I turn.

It's the girl, the blonde. Christine's best friend. From the conversations I have overheard, I can guess with some certainty at her name. Meg, I think. Confused and somewhat worried at what her presence might indicate, I watch. She is paddling the gondola towards me, looking something like determined, her arms shaking a little from her efforts. She starts slightly in what must be fear as she sees my eyes upon her, but continues to row.

"Are you alone?" I call. She nods, biting her lip, and I relax slightly. The caves are quiet, and there are no other signs of intruders. This girl alone poses no threat. Upon registering this thought though, my mind begins to race, and other possible motives for her visit occur. Worrying ones.

"Are you bringing news of Christine?" I shout to her, my voice higher than usual, and choked. Perhaps she has changed her mind, and chosen me over Raoul. Perhaps she misses me. Or worse, perhaps she is ill, or dying. Hope-tinged panic stirs in my chest.

"No," Meg says, as she docks the gondola neatly and steps gingerly out. The last of my faith in Christine's return deserts me, and once more I feel Goosebumps rising to the surface of my flesh. Christine would not be coming back. I close my eyes to acknowledge this anew, and the feeling of twisting agony swims to the surface of consciousness once again. When I can stand to, I open my eyes. Meg is standing near the water, looking warily apologetic. Her eyes flick over my bad side, then hastily, she meets my gaze. I sigh.

"What do you want?"

"To know what happened to Christine," she tells me, in a clear, almost unwavering voice. I nod.

"She left. With Raoul."

Meg thinks for a moment, then smiles faintly. "I thought perhaps she had. She never said goodbye, but after the fire… Well, I wasn't sure if she escaped. Nobody was. And you seemed to be the last person with her…"

"You mistake me for Raoul," I tell her, bitterly. She jumps, and clears her throat nervously, gathering her cloak around her. I exhale slowly, remorsefully, and give a quick, apologetic nod.

"I'm very sorry…" she begins, seeming to understand the situation. I smile ironically, and she turns away. I watch her back as she starts to step into the little boat. Her cloak is drawn around her and I can see the outline of her body, her feminine curves. Her shape is so different to Christine's, and yet the soft pillow of her breasts and the angular indent of her waist reminds me of her. These womanly qualities that I might once have had the pleasure of becoming familiarised with, had Christine chosen me.

"Meg," I call. She stiffens, then turns to face me, and once again I notice how her pinched waist flows smoothly into full hips and long, elegant legs. Not quite Christine's shape, but close enough. And when Meg turns her gaze once again to my face, it is Christine's image I see smiling questioningly, nervously.

"Why not stay," I offer smoothly, gesturing for Meg to sit. Cautiously, she follows the direction of my motion with her eyes, then turns them anxiously upon me.

"It is late. My fiancé will be missing me if I don't leave right away… Perhaps another-"

I cut her off, moving quickly forward and gripping her arm. The rage within me seems to have come out of nowhere, and yet it is strong and all-consuming. I hardly hear her plea for freedom as I turn her to face me.

"There's no fiancé. You're going to leave," I snarl. "And you won't come back, why should you? When has anybody ever wanted to visit?" I feel myself spit the last word and my insides flinch slightly as I see the look of terror in the young girl's eyes, but the anger I feel cannot be stopped by a pleading glance. I shake her a little as I scowl, unable to find a safe outlet for so much repressed emotion, and she stiffens, squeezing her eyes tightly closed.

Within a second she is over my shoulder, and I am carrying her to the bed that should have been Christine's. Meg is responsive now, shrieking and sobbing, begging for me to put her down. I pay no heed, her protests hardly hindering me as I drop her carelessly onto the red silk and pin her franticly struggling arms to her sides.

He sounds begin to quieten, as she eyes me fearfully, her stare darting around the bed, looking for some escape. Again, I see Christine in her- the reaction is similar to that of Christine's when I first brought her here and she took off the mask. Only Christine was important. I took pity then.

"Please," Meg whimpers in an almost level tone, her eyes searching mine for a shred of mercy. I stare through her coldly, knowing that I am wrong and for once, hardly caring at all. When the world has been so harsh to you, it is difficult to summon noble feelings when the opportunity arises. I press harder on her limbs, close my eyes.

"Christine," I whisper, and Meg stiffens. In my mind, I see my pupil, smiling in nervous anticipation. Tonight would be our wedding night, of course, and she would be dressed in…

"Wait." I stand up, dragging Meg with me. She murmurs some prayer under her breath as I pull her towards the waxwork model of Christine. She turns pale and sways slightly on her feet when I draw back the curtains, but does not faint away.

"Put this on," I say, gesturing to the bridal gown. She stares at me in wide eyed horror, then begins to fight against my gripping fingers once again. I shake her, and her head snaps forward. Menacingly, I lift her chin.

"Put it on, or I will kill you," I tell her, calmly. She swallows, tears making slow tracks down her face. I pull a rope from the wall nearby, and secure a lasso around her bare neck. "I'm going to turn away, and you're going to change. If you don't, I will kill you. And if you try to move, you'll choke yourself." I turn, holding on tightly to the rope and feeling a slight flicker of shame as I hear her sobs. Angrily, I stifle the unwanted feeling, and tell her again to change her clothes.

I hear the rustle of stiff fabric as she starts to change, pools of starchy clothes collecting around her feet. Now and then, I pull a little at the lasso, reminding her to be quick and compliant. She cries all the while she undresses the Christine model, and steps into the bridal gown. I ignore her.

"I'm dressed," comes a small voice, at long last, and I turn to examine her. Her beauty does not measure up to Christine's in the slightest, but in my desperate state I can force my imagination to compensate. I snatch the veil from the Christine waxwork's head, and place it roughly down upon Meg's, and then, before she has time to complain, I have lifted her back up, her back supported by one arm and the other hooked under her knees. Can feel that the smile that inches over my face is a little twisted, as I carry the kicking Meg over my threshold and onto the bed.

"Don't!" she cries, as I lie down beside her, unhooking the lasso from her neck and casting it aside, before pinning her arms once again.

"Shh, shh," I tell her, leaning down to kiss her gently on the mouth. She screws her eyes closed and turns her head away, and I reach through the top of the veil to her neatly tied-back hair. Slowly, and I imagine painfully, I pull her face towards mine, forcing her to tilt her chin invitingly. With a perverse smirk, I push my lips to hers and move them carefully, cautiously. Christine had, of course, been my first and last kiss so far, and I was unacquainted with exactly how my mouth should work, yet sure in the knowledge that I would never kiss again like I had with her. Tentatively, I slip my tongue over Meg's teeth, and she utters a small, disgusted cry. Before I know it, she has bitten down on my lip. I feel blood surge out of the fresh cut, and pull back.

"Don't do that, Meg," I warn, coldly. She scans my face, terrified, and I smile. My hands release her arms, if only for a second, and I pull the sleeves of her dress down from her shoulders, then tear roughly at the top of the bodice. It falls away from her chest easily, and she whimpers softly as she attempts to cover herself. I chuckle bitterly, and wrench her arms from her breasts, gripping her wrists and forcing them to her sides. Christine's face is still in my mind as I examine her curiously, stronger feelings stirring in my groin than I had imagined I would feel. Her eyes swim dizzily over my form, the plea once again almost tangible in the air, but it will continue to go unanswered. I want her, and for once in my miserable life I am going to get what I want. For once in my "pitiful" existence, I am going to know how it feels to merge as fully as possible with another person, to feel the closeness, the natural connection between two bodies. Lust is an emotion I have managed to fend off with certain methods before; composition, or a guilty self-exploration. And as Meg keeps reminding me, shrilly and desperately, it is not necessary to fulfil this need which stirs and swells, not essential, and not worth so much pain. But neither, do I think, was it necessary for the world to show me so little compassion. And so I continue to dispense Meg's implorations.

In a fit of sudden desire, I force her dress up to her waist. I had wanted for her to be naked, just as I'd innocently imagined Christine to be on the night that she became my wife, but getting her fully out of her clothes will be difficult with her struggling to flee. And easy as it would be to recapture her and bring her back, it may ruin the illusion I am determinedly keeping of this beautiful night with Christine, the night that so many of my arias are devoted to, if Meg will insist on continuing to trying to escape me.

She's sobbing now, clutching at me, urgently beseeching me.

"Please… _please… _no…"

I push a hand lightly over her lips and with the other hand, pull hard at her underwear. It jolts awkwardly down her thighs, and she turns her eyes to me again, tears brimming over her lower lashes and spilling down her cheeks. I wipe them away slowly, tenderly, and push a hand into her hair, imagining springy curls instead of Meg's fine, smooth locks.

"Christine," I murmur again, my words aiming to soothe and promise. Meg shudders and slowly stops fighting, all of the energy seeming to leave her. She lies limply, sobs making her ribcage rock wildly. I watch her breasts rise and fall, with little pity for Meg and unimaginable love for Christine.

"Angel," I tell her, as I pull her suspenders and stockings down over her feet, leaving her bare except for the skirt which pools around her waist. She looks at me, confused and fearful, picking up on the tone in my voice, understanding that my word is not meant as a term of endearment. "You'll call me angel," I clarify, and she whimpers.

And then we're ready; not exactly like I imagined because Christine is not really here and Meg cannot measure up to Christine, but if I close my eyes and train myself to block out the sounds of Meg's despair, I can pretend. I kiss her first, my mouth hot and eager, hers unwilling and still until I pull away to glare threateningly. With a slow, unhappy moan, she parts her lips, and our tongues slide together, and my eyes fall closed. I picture my angel, and although this kiss is so poor compared with the one I shared with her earlier, it is enough to incite my most feral desires. I shift as I feel movement, my own arousal unfurling and straightening. Meg feels it too, and as I pull back to smile at her, she begs me with big blue eyes.

"Please," she whispers. "Please don't."

"Shh, Christine," I whisper back, cupping her face tenderly. "Your angel won't hurt you."

She closes her eyes and seems to be trying her hardest to wish herself away. Again, I feel a kick of guilt and quickly smother it with the flames of my lust and the unstoppable love that I feel for my pupil.

I move carefully against her still and quivering form as I reach down to remove the garments constricting me. She whines again as she feels me spring free and bump against her a little, and I hush her.

"Angel," I murmur quietly, a reminder composed mostly of threat. "Say it."

"Angel," she whimpers miserably, tears spilling over her face. I sigh, and wipe the tears from her eyes.

"Christine, I won't hurt you," I promise. Meg closes her eyes, her face anguished.

I manoeuvre myself into the most comfortable position possible, and then suddenly all at once, it's happening. I work myself gently inside her, whilst she screws up her face and breathes deeply and harshly, taking care not to hurt her any more than is necessary. My eyes close again and I can almost see Christine, her skin white and perfect against the red silk, her eyes never leaving mine as she softly mews, her legs curling around my calves as her pleasure mounts.

"Christine, I love you," I moan, quietly. The body beneath me lays quiet and still, and I push inside her again, slowly, with mounting passion. This feeling, the feeling of being so joined with another human is sensational, and I can already feel the intense pressure building.

I look down at my lover, careful to blank Meg's face out of my reality. Her breasts sway with my every movement, and as I get a little faster, more desperate, her entire body shifts upwards on the silk. I wrap one arm around her waist to keep her in her place, and with the other hand I cup her breast, curiously teasing her nipple into a stiff peak. In wonder, I look up into Meg's face. She is avoiding my gaze, looking around at the ceilings with glassy tears sliding down the sides of her face and trickling into her hair.

I turn my face from hers and get faster still, ready now. All at once, the sudden pressure has become almost unendurable. I push inside the girl beneath me harder, faster, needing a release. She cries beneath me, her moans of pain and sadness becoming louder the rougher I get, and I pull the hand on her breast up to her mouth, smothering her sounds.

And then it happens, and for the first time it doesn't feel unclean, because it's happening with somebody else, out of love. I whisper Christine's name on a frantic breath, then my eyes slam closed and my body judders of its own accord. I spill into her, pressing up as far as I possibly can, and pulling her down, my hands falling from her mouth in favour of her hips. Her cries are louder but I hardly hear them as I allow the feeling to wash over me, bathing me ecstasy such as I never thought I'd experience.

The pressure leaves me, and I fall limply over her, my breathing harsh and satisfied. She cries quietly as I settle, peace and serenity gracing my body and mind at last, and this time, her anguish filters through. Quickly, I lift myself from her body and replace my clothes.

"I'm sorry," I mutter, not permitting myself to look at her face. I know that all I will see there is a familiar hatred, blame and disgust. And for once, I earned this revulsion. "You can leave now."

I can see Meg's legs trembling as she stands, and avert my eyes as I catch sight of my own deposit trickling inappropriately down her thighs. She dresses in fearful, frantic silence, then sails away on the gondola, looking sullied and somehow broken. And at last, I find some peace. I have had the time with Christine that I had always considered to be owed to me. And at least now, I can comfort myself with the idea that I deserve the hostility of the people. I have earned their lack of compassion myself, and although it hurts to know that I will never belong to their privileged group, it is preferable to knowing that only my face will be the infection that poisons every relationship I could ever have formed.

**Sorry it wasn't happier, but please R&R xx**


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